


I catch a fire when I'm with you

by Smellslikefire



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Altean Lance (Voltron), Altean Prince Lance, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Dubious Consent, Galra Keith (Voltron), Humiliation, Keith!whump, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Keith (Voltron), Probable tentacle sex because shape-shifting alteans, Prostitution, Self-Lubrication, Unrepentant Filth, War prize Keith, forgive me Father for I have sinned, intersex Keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 09:52:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14788238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smellslikefire/pseuds/Smellslikefire
Summary: He’s wrapped in black armor, a pale skinned boy while the others are various shades of purple. He’s the tiniest member by far – half-Galran, Coran whispers helpfully –  all lean lines and compact muscles, but by the measured way he moves, Lance can tell he has earned his place in the group of blades well.He’s a sober, unsmiling little thing, and it pulls at something unnamable in Lance.----------------Altean Prince Lance has an obsession with war prize Keith.Things get sketchy. Mind the tags. Be safe.





	I catch a fire when I'm with you

The first time Lance sees him is in in the middle of a peace treaty negotiation. Tensions between Altea and the Galran Empire have been running high, and the majority of foreign support lies with Altea, which the Galran Empire is finally taking note of. He’s a member of a Galran faction that wants peace, the last of them to walk into the hall, and everything about him is striking to Lance.

He’s wrapped in black armor, a pale skinned boy while the others are various shades of purple. He’s the tiniest member by far – half-Galran, Coran whispers helpfully –  all lean lines and compact muscles, but by the measured way he moves, Lance can tell he has earned his place in the group of blades well.

He’s a sober, unsmiling little thing, and it pulls at something unnamable in Lance.

Later, when they take a break from negotiations, Lance climbs down the dais and walks over to where he is standing, eyes fixed straight ahead, ignoring everything around him, while the head of his delegation turns to answer a question some Altean noble asks him.

He circles him and leans in from the back, gaze heavy on the line of his back and neck, whispers, “Darling, loosen up. 

He wouldn’t have thought such a thing was possible but somehow the Galran’s stance becomes tighter, muscles tensing as he whips around and stares at Lance.

For a second, Lance stares back. He thinks, _my god._

From afar, the Galra had looked dangerous. Up close, he is devastating. He’s a fierce little thing, and Lance can tell just by the flinty look in his eyes – hell, _his goddamn eyes_ – that playing with him would be like playing with fire.

_Time to crash and burn, then_ , he thinks. He leans further into the boy’s space, grinning, says something stupid and flirty, and watches as his eyes progressively get wider. He can’t help it, Lance can practically hear the whistle of wind as he crashes and burns, but at that moment, nothing was more important than getting a reaction from the boy in front of him.

So he keeps going, waggles his eyebrows and whispers something about doing their part to foster unity, probably in the bedroom – and that does it.

Fierce eyes narrow up at him, and that’s the only warning he gets before a blade, _an actual blade_ , is skimming the underside of his chin, kissing the front of his throat. It barely lasts a second – before long, the Galran is being pulled away, hasty apologies being offered by the delegation.

It happens in a blur, but he feels drunk on it, drunk on the burning look in the Galra’s eyes, and at once he gets dizzy at the thought of seeing those eyes narrowed from something else, screwed shut in pleasure, that prissy little mouth dropped open helplessly, moaning his name.  

A guard rushes to his side and offers him a cloth, and he presses it to the nick on his neck absently. By the time he turns and looks back for the Galran, he is gone.

 

\---

 

The next time he sees him isn’t until much, much later, when the negotiations have fallen through, the Galra Empire proving more stubborn and prideful than the Galran faction had hoped for, and war had come and gone, leaving Altea victorious but changed. More vicious, unforgiving.

This time, the black armor is gone, and in their place sits a collar around his throat and the slim chains laden with jewels that mark a pleasure slave. The little Galran’s bent neatly in half, legs thrown over the broad shoulders of an Altean soldier.

Lance knows it’s him without seeing his face, because he had gone specifically looking for him. He had heard the soldiers talking about him - a pretty little Galran war prize hidden in one of the brothels the soldiers liked to go to. _Fierce little thing,_ they had laughed, _but pretty_. Lance had known right away it was him.

_Fucking worth it_ , one of the soldiers had said, to endure his angry little hisses for the chance to have him choking on a cock, or bent sweetly over a bed. The soldier had been drunk, but so, so helpful. “Wicked little thing”, he had gone on, “You don’t even need to prepare him, he gets slick all his own, like he’s made for fucking. And he’ll fight like hell, my lord, but with how wet he gets down there, you’d think he he was gagging for it.”

In the room, it’s quiet save for the wet slap of skin on skin, and the almost desperate huffs of air that are pushed out of the Galran’s sweet looking mouth with every rough thrust.

At the sound of the door closing, the soldier turns and stutters to a stop at the sight of Lance.  It’s Rickert, one of the new recruits of the Royal Guard. Handsome and charming, extremely popular with the ladies and men. And extremely eager to drop everything to attend to his prince. And drop the Galran’s legs he does.

Lance walks in slowly and tuts.

Behind Rickert, he sees the Galran boy panting, and as Rickert moves to stand fully to salute Lance, he sees the Galran shiver as Rickert’s cock, still glistening with slick and precum, slides out of him with a filthy slide. Cum and slick slide out in a slow dribble out of the Galran’s hole.

Lance wants nothing more than to push it back in, to plug the puffy looking hole and cram it full with his fingers and then his cock. _Later,_ he tells himself. For now, he can be generous. He thinks, _for now_ –

“Well, don’t stop, soldier.”

He sees Rickert’s eyes widen, and he ignores it, letting his eyes sweep over the Galran’s form as he walks closer to where they are on the bed.

Lance takes in his heaving chest, his legs splayed wide, and _his eyes_. Those eyes will be the death of him. He sees the Galran’s eyes widen with recognition when he’s near enough to be seen, but he doesn’t let his gaze linger on the Galran.

He turns again to Rickert and addresses him. “Don’t let me stop you from enjoying yourself. I insist.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees the Galran move to close his legs, and he tuts again. The Galran freezes. Lance keeps his eyes on the soldier.

“Go on then, don’t mind me.”

There’s a pause, and then, “Yes, my Prince.”

As Rickert turn back and almost hesitantly brings the Galran’s legs back up on his shoulders, he almost laughs at the look of shock on the Galran’s face.

He steps back, sits on a chair, and lights a cigarette. There’s a moment of silence, and he sees Rickert’s hand lower in between their bodies. He hears a slow slick slide followed by a quickly bitten off cry, then a rhythmic creaking from the bed as Rickert builds up a rhythm of in and out, in and out.

From his place, he cranes his head to look over to where the two bodies meet. Incredible, he thinks, how something so tiny is able to fit the soldiers cock.

“Faster,” he calls out, almost lazily.

Rickert stutters again.

“My prince?”

“Go faster. He looks like he can take it.”

He waits a few beats as the soldier begins to thrust faster before calling out again.

“Go deeper,” he says. “Open his legs wider, like this.” He gets up from his seat and takes one leg, pulls it off Rickert’s shoulder and pushes it down and out to the side. “Hold him open like that.” From above, he sees the Galran boy bite his lips at the stretch, and smiles.

“See? Now go deeper.” The bed creaks, and the Galran’s face twists at the hard thrust.

“Go on, I think you can be rougher than that. Look at him, he’s barely making a sound. He can take more.” Sweat begins to bead on Rickert’s skin, but he does as he’s told. The muscles on his back ripple, and he pounds into the boy beneath him, the bed creaking almost violently now.

Below him, the Galran remains silent, biting his lip to keep from making a sound.

_Can’t have that_ , Lance thinks.

“Here,” he says, and he moves closer, puts his hands on Rickert’s hips, tilting and guiding, and the angle of his thrusts changes the slightest bit, and somehow that must do the trick, because he sees the Galran’s eyes fly open and a strangled whine escape.

“Keep going,” he says, and the whine builds into a moan. Just like that, the Galran loses control, like a flip has been switched. As the soldier ruts into him, he sobs and writhes in the bed. “He likes it like that, see? He was made for this.”

Lance sits back in the chair and watches the Galran get thoroughly fucked. “Does he feel good? He looks like might.”

“Yes, my Lord.” The soldier is huffing now, straining, like he might be close.

“I guessed so. Keep going, he likes that.” There’s another bitten off moan, and he smothers a laugh.

“Look at him, he’s desperate. Eager for it. Made to be bred.” He sees Rickert begin to slow, his thrusts becoming unsteady and he calls out a warning. “Keep going. Show him how Alteans do it.”

The creaking of the bed gets louder as the soldier get closer, more desperate.

“Harder,” he says. “Whore like that probably needs more to get him off, he’s had thousands.”

The Galran sobs, and the thrusts grow punishing, the Galran whimpering with every rough thrust.

“He’s eager for it, isn’t he? A pretty little Galran whore, made to be bred.” He sees the Galran’s eyes twist shut and he goes on, “Hungry little cockslut. The Galran soldiers probably kept him busy, left him wet and open.” He watches as the Galran gasps desperately, eyes wide and unseeing, and he keeps going. “Been fucked so many times, it probably doesn’t take much to loosen him up. 

In a split second the Galran’s back bows off the bed, and he comes, mouth open in a cry. Above him, Rickert slows down.

“Keep going,” Lance barks, and Rickert obeys, screwing into the Galran.

The Galran’s shivering now, likely overstimulated, but he says, “Fuck him until you’ve come. Fill him up.” It doesn’t take much, another ten strokes in, and he hears Rickert groan, sees him push in and out a few more times before stopping altogether.

He watches Rickert slide out, and it truly is obscene, how tiny the Galran’s hole is, puffy and red, white leaking out of it and on to the bedding.

“Well done, soldier,” he says, and walks briskly to the door, keeps his eyes off where the Galran is spread on the bed unmoving, legs open and splayed wide crudely where Rickert has lowered them on the bed. “Don’t be late tomorrow morning.”

 

\---

 

The third time he sees him, he wants to crow, because he knows, _knows_ with a bone deep certainty as he sees his men drag the Galran into the middle of the throne room, that by the end of the night, he’ll have the Galran begging for his cock.

It’s early morning, and the petitions have not begun yet. Weak light slips through the windows, and it makes for an almost otherworldly effect; the Galran’s skin is painted in golden light, the thin silks that drape off his hips glinting with delicate chains and stones.

He is flushed and panting audibly, and as he struggles to get up from where is on the floor, bangles and chains clinking as he moves, Lance sees a smear of slick staining the floor where the Galran had been seated.

“Little one,” he says. And when the Galran finally raises his head and looks him in the eye, it becomes a struggle not to have him right there and then. He’s waited so long. “You know why you’re here?”

Despite the need rolling off him in waves, those eyes still look deadly, narrowed and furious. “It can only be one thing, my Prince,” he spits out, like the words disgust him.

Lance wants to laugh. Instead, he gets off the dais and walks over to where the Galran is crumpled on the ground. It will be delicious finally breaking him, he thinks, and brings a finger under the Galran’s chin, tipping his face up.

“My little whore,” he says lightly, and the Galran hisses, pulls his chin down quick and neat, aiming to bite at his finger. Lance laughs and pulls away, walking back to his throne.

He tilts his head at his men, and as he sits back on the dais, they bring the Galran to rest beside him, on a velvet cushion by his feet. He looks almost feverish now, barely fighting as they fit a golden leash to the collar around his neck and hand it over to Lance.

Leaning back in his throne, he waves the first of the petitioners in.

As the people come in, he watches eyes flit to the quivering mess of silks and chains beside him. He tugs on the leash, just for fun.

From the floor, the Galran hisses at him. But Lance can see that he’s getting more flushed by the second, and the spill of wetness beneath him is starting to grow obscene, soaking the cushion.

“Darling,” he says. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

 


End file.
